Dynamics and Diversions
by Juliette Louise
Summary: The Hissrad had tasked him with making sure she didn't burn out or get herself killed. He could protect her and her companions with or without her cognizance, but the other half of the equation...she would need to approach him for. Lady Inquisitor/Iron Bull. Rated for naughtiness.
1. A Distraction

_Author's Note: I'm honestly not sure how this happened, friends. There I was, playing through _Inquisition _for the umpteenth time, somewhat unsatisfied with the romance options available for my Inquisitor. Then, on a whim, I watched some YouTube videos people had uploaded of party banter. There is one where Cole helpfully tells the entire party about the sexual power dynamic between the Inquisitor and Iron Bull. Mortifying, but undeniably kinda...hot. When he said the words, "She submits, but he...serves," this fell right outta my brain and onto my keyboard._

_What do you all think, shall I continue this one?_

* * *

This was not the first time.

That had been awhile ago, actually, and he had initiated. She wouldn't have ever approached him, though she'd been dropping hints. So he just showed up in her bedroom and gave her a choice. Asked her if she really wanted him, though he could tell from her breathing and her posture and her eyes that she did. They had a very pleasant encounter, and when it was over, it was over. She acted no differently toward him, and his demeanor certainly didn't shift.

But that afternoon hung there like an unanswered question. It was, in fact, another choice for her to make. _Ben Hassrath_ training had instilled in him a preternatural patience (and an objectivity that made Tranquils seem excitable in comparison), but he had to admit to being pleased when he saw her making side-long glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking. She also tended to lick her lips slightly more often than usual in his presence, and when they all sat around a campfire at night, though she pointedly avoided sitting next to him, she unconsciously pointed her knees in his direction. She was an inspirational leader, a skilled fighter, and even a passable diplomat, but she would have made a truly _lousy_ spy.

The Iron Bull let their first encounter rest in her mind, allowed it enough time to germinate and send its roots down into her thoughts. Then he just sat back and watched her wrestle with herself. The _Hissrad_ had instructed him to facilitate her success, make sure she didn't burn out or get herself killed. He could protect her and her companions with or without her cognizance, but the _other_ half of that equation...she had to decide about on her own. He waited.

Weeks later, she stomped into the tavern just after sunset and sat next to him. When she ordered them both beer, he knew the choice had been made.

Mira Trevellyan (called her given name, Mirabelle, only by those with a death wish) had rebelled against her illustrious and entitled family since, he'd wagered, the very beginning. He could see her now, shimmying out of bedroom windows and down rain spouts, getting into adventures and fights, occasionally tumbling a visiting dignitary or barmaid, perhaps.

Yes, she was a hellion by high society's standards, but she still played by the same general rules; drinks, then small talk, then inviting a man to bend you over the furniture. It was sort of quaint, honestly. He dutifully drank his beer and talked about how the training of the Inquisition's troops progressed, all the while watching as tension made her shoulders creep up toward her earlobes. Night had fallen before she finally asked him up to her quarters-ostensibly to talk-in private.

And talking had led them to the current moment.

He loosened a single knot above each wrist and she was freed. Mira sank into him and he caught her, chuckling, though not unkindly. She was a limp, sweaty shell of her former self, muscles still trembling in her upper arms and behind her shoulder blades. He hoisted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. She sighed into his neck, one arm dangling, the other bent so she could rest her hand at the base of his skull.

Bull smirked, padding silently across the floor toward her enormous bed. He found her complete lack of pretense charming. Others would try to act cool at this point, break away, or fill the silence with talk. Mira was silent and still, content enough to breath her hot breath into his neck. She trusted him completely, not only in carnal interactions but, more interestingly, in those vulnerable moments immediately after. She was lucky he was on her side. He lie down on his back carefully, Mira following, naturally, and sprawling out unconcernedly atop him.

"Sweet fucking Maker." Mira declared, her voice muffled by the fact that she was speaking directly into his chest.

He looked down, amused. He could only see a rumpled head of hair and the rounded peaks of her rather spectacular backside.

"For a nonbeliever you certainly do pray a lot." He observed.

Mira finally looked up, pushing sweaty hair back and away from her face. The apples of her cheeks were flushed. She's been wearing kohl around her eyes that was now running. He looked down at himself. She'd left two slightly smeary impressions of her eyes just below his collarbone. He tactfully did not comment on this.

"Just tell me one thing, Bull." She said, grinning, eyes narrowed, pushing herself up onto her elbows. "When you helped hang the crest, were you already planning to tie me to it?"

The crest she was referring to was the royal insignia of the House of Valmont, a gift from a very grateful Empress Celene. It was gigantic and heavy and ostentatious, all stone and steel, depicting a triumphant silver falcon, the golden ramparts of Halamshiral, the Sunburst Throne, the traditional helm of the Knights of blah, blah, blah, etcetera etcetera. He'd helped several soldiers affix it to the Inquisitor's wall. Coincidentally at precisely the right height to just barely keep her toes on the ground when she was tied to it by the wrists.

He shrugged modestly.

"Those little metal loopdy-loops at the bottom, conveniently just about four feet apart? Too perfect."

"You bastard. And at the time, you kept spouting all that nonsense about how proud I should be."

"Hey, hey. That wasn't nonsense. You saved the Empress' life, ended a civil war, and improved relations between Orlais and Ferelden to boot. You _should_ be proud. _I_ was proud _of_ you. It's just that I was also thinking about tying you to this very, ah, pride-inducing crest in an _astaarit_ configuration and making you come until you couldn't see straight."

She faceplanted back into his chest with a thump.

"Well. Mission accomplished." She sighed.

He chuckled, running a hand through her damp hair, down her spine, and back up.

"Mmm, glad to hear it." He murmured, cupping her skull with one hand and pressing a kiss onto her forehead.

She looked up at him, smiling slyly, then scooted up to kiss him on the mouth.

Mira's lips were soft and felt superheated, and her tongue ghosted over his softly, in sharp contrast to how their lips had met only a short time ago, when he was working her over. She broke the kiss with a grin, rolled sideways, and slid off of him.

Bull looked over at her as she stretched languidly. Mira was a tall, small-breasted and narrow-hipped, more striking than beautiful, dark of hair and eyes. As a youngster, she'd had the advantage of decent food and a fencing instructor rather than millet gruel and farm labor. It had made her strong and hale, longer of limb and fairer than most of Ferelden's peasantry. Regardless, she wasn't to the taste of most Fereldeners, who tended to like their women short and buxom and blonde, but Cremesius had commented once that she would go over well in Rivain or Antiva or even Tevinter, then bit his lip and made a sort of "_Umph_" sound. Bull, when he wasn't thinking like a _Ben Hassrath_, thought she was hotter than nine hells, especially when she was kicking ass and taking names. Or when she had his cock in her mouth.

Mira sat up, her lips forming an O, eyes narrowed. She was a little sore but mostly unscathed, he observed, other than a few mouth-shaped marks on her torso, and one tucked away, he knew, on the softer flesh of her inner thigh.

"Oh my." She said, standing carefully and stretching again, going up on her toes, the long, lean muscles of her calves and thighs flexing. She padded off toward the little room where she kept her washbasin and other toilette.

"None the worse for the wear, I hope?" He called after her.

"Hah. No. I actually feel like I've had a full body massage as well as being fucked senseless." She called around the corner, then groaned. "Though I'll be walking like someone who's been too long in the saddle tomorrow."

Bull smiled to himself, and finally stood. He had mostly redressed when she emerged, looking freshly scrubbed.

"Are we back in the field tomorrow, boss?" He asked, slipping back into his usual role along with his armor.

Mira slid back into bed, throwing an arm over her face.

"Oh yes, more demons, reanimated corpses, murderous Templars, and probably pissed-off wildlife out in the middle of podunk-nowhere. You game?"

"Wow, fun-and-a-half. Count me in." He said dryly, walking toward the staircase.

She laughed, and he turned back for a moment. Mira had already closed her eyes. She looked minute in the gigantic bed, the coverlet pulled up to her chin, dark hair unbound and unruly, falling around her like a disorderly shadow, lashes dark against her cheeks.

Unable to help himself, he went back to her bedside, bending down to kiss each eyelid softly. Then he pinched out the candle.


	2. What Is Needed

_Author's Note:__ I know, I know. Every time I try to write some good smutty nonsense, it gets messed up by stupid _thinking_. Hopefully the thinky interludes make the smutty nonsense parts even better. ㈴1_

* * *

It rained.

It rained and rained and rained and fucking rained some more. It was maddening. She'd had wet socks and a clammy chill for close to a week. And every time she shifted her sword belts, a little gap would momentarily appear between the plates of armor over her shoulder blades, dumping little rivulets of freezing cold rainwater down her spine.

Mira was still awake, listening to Sera's snores and the accursed rain and hoping that Harding, Cremisius, and Iron Bull hadn't been waylaid.

Two nights ago they'd received a message by Harding's messenger falcon, Princess. It was a description of the trail she'd found, in Harding's neat, cramped handwriting, and a sketch of the route. Mira, Sera, and Cole had turned sharply west and south, and made for what was hopefully the meeting point. (That wretched bird then spent the next two days biting, clawing, and squawking at her, not to mention regurgitating slimy pellets full of mouse bones and fur. Mira was forced to assume that Princess was so named in an attempt at irony on Scout Harding's part.)

They pitched their tents in the cold, muddy darkness by the light of a full moon and a half-drowned campfire.

She was considering dragging herself out of their tent and surveying their surroundings again when she heard the Iron Bull's unmistakable voice from off in the distance, and Krem's equally distinct one responding.

"Thank the Maker." She sighed, sliding carefully out from between the sleeping forms of Cole and Sera and fumbling with her boots, which had spent all night at the threshold of the tent, being rained upon.

By the time she had gotten herself sorted out and exited the tent, they were very nearly upon them, having crested a low hill in the foggy darkness. The small, bedraggled form of Lace Harding was in the lead, Iron Bull and Krem on either side of the packhorse behind her.

"Good evening, Inquisitor." Harding called out, and as she did, Princess soared out of the copse of trees alongside them and landed, squawking and flapping, on her gloved, outstretched hand.

"And a lovely one it is, too." Mira said, smiling tautly. "You made good time."

"We're lucky the moon is full." Harding said, giving her a nod and a crooked smile.

"Inquisitor. Glad to see you're still in one piece." Krem said, stepping forward and shaking her hand.

"Same to you, Lieutenant." She said, clapping him on the well-armored shoulder.

At that moment, Cole's blonde, disheveled head poked out from under the tent flap. He blinked sleepily at them.

"Hello Scout Harding and Lieutenant Cremisius and The Iron Bull." He called.

"Hey, kid." Bull said, giving him a little wave. Then he turned to her.

"Inquisitor." He intoned, looking down at her evenly and extending one huge hand. She took it, her own hand nearly disappearing into his.

"Bull." She said, nodding, feeling her heart starting to hammer against her ribs. He released her hand.

Mira turned back toward the fire, silently cursing at herself. If she was blushing, she was going to throw herself off the next available cliff.

"The kettle's in the coals and there's still tea, and biscuits." She said. "And a lovely damp log to sit on."

Krem snorted, rifling in their horse's saddlebag.

"A damp log and a cold biscuit have never looked better." He said, flashing her a wry half-smile.

* * *

Mira woke from a half-formed nightmare about grasping, hungry corpses to find that Sera had thrown a very bony arm over her and was muttering, angrily, in her sleep.

"...Fucksakes." Mira murmured, carefully moving Sera's arm back to where it belonged.

"Arse biscuits." Sera snarled, still firmly asleep.

She turned over onto her stomach with some difficulty. They had a tough day ahead of them. The signs Harding had located suggested their missing soldiers were taken by a band of Avvar tribesmen. There was no telling what the Avvar were after, or if their captives were dead or alive. If it was a ransom they wanted, they had yet to inform the Inquisition directly. If they had merely wanted something to kill, there were plenty of easier targets in nearby Fisher's End. Had their men and women unwittingly ventured into some forbidden territory? Blasphemed against the Avvar gods? Called someone's mother a naughty word?

The hazy faces of the missing soldiers floated through her mind, snippets of their voices. Some of them she'd met only briefly, others she knew quite well. All of them had been with the Inquisition since before Haven was destroyed. They'd survived where so many others had fallen, put aside grief and fear. Stood with her and her cause, trusted her, laughed and fought and drank and rebuilt. Right before she sent them all off into the southern wilds to die.

Mira caught herself, silenced the thought. She turned again, face up now, staring at the ceiling of the tent. A memory appeared suddenly, with all the subtlety of a rock to the temple.

This was what Bull had been talking about, she realized.

_"When it's someone you care about, you give them what they need."_ Had been his exact words. At the time, she'd assumed that this was his over-dramatic way of telling her that she needed _laid_. And that had certainly been accomplished.

But it seemed that his meaning was a little deeper than that. She needed the shift in dynamics as well as the diversion. Bull took the reins of control right out of her hands and tied her to the furniture with them. She had trusted him previously, of course, or the whole affair would never have gotten off the ground. But in allowing herself to be made totally vulnerable, to submit to him with the promise that he would never push her too far, a sort of wordless understanding had appeared between them.

It surprised her. And it felt fucking _great_, on a number of levels.

What she needed was to be relieved of responsibility, a brief respite from holding people's lives and deaths in her hands. The careful dance of tension and release, danger and safety, did something beneficial for her psyche. Bull was shouldering some of that weight for her, in a way that she didn't quite understand. She was no stranger to the idea of taking a casual lover, and had also experienced a few romances. This was something...else. But she liked it.

Mira sighed. Now was not the time for these thoughts. She was the Inquisitor and tomorrow was important. Now was time to be _sleeping_.

Mira turned with some difficulty, inadvertently putting a knee into Cole's ribs. He whimpered. She winced. At last, she found a comfortable position.

Naturally, the moment this was accomplished, Sera's aggressive snoring began again.

Jaw clenched, head pounding, Mira slithered out from between her two companions and once again pulled on her sodden boots. At least it had stopped raining.

Extricating herself from the tent, she saw Bull's distinctive silhouette by the fire, his back to her. She froze. It was definitely too late to turn back; he had most certainly heard her.

But why shouldn't she sit with Bull? He was a trusted ally, a friend, and he told a damn good story. She wanted to talk to Bull. She _liked_ Bull, dammit.

Mira approached, and he turned, light glinting off his eyepatch.

"Inquisitor, welcome." He said quietly, patting the ground beside him, which she saw was covered by a pine bough. He was sitting on the dry(ish) foliage and leaning back against the log, boots kicked up before the fire, ankles and arms crossed, an expansive cloak wrapped around him. Bull could look relaxed and nonchalant in seemingly any setting.

She sat, expelling a long, heavy sigh, letting her head fall back, looking up at the stars. It was the first night they'd had on this trip when it hadn't been too cloudy to see them.

"Rough night?" He asked casually, looking over at her.

"Between Sera elbowing me in the throat and snoring in my ear, and Cole's night terrors, it hasn't been a restful few days, no."

Bull looked down at her, putting his head on one side.

"What does Cole, of all of us, have to be afraid of?" He murmured.

Mira put her throbbing head in her hands.

"Two nights ago he shook me awake in a panic, and asked me if I thought horses really _enjoyed_ running, or if we were forcing them to do so against their wills."

Iron Bull blew out a long breath between pursed lips.

"_Last_ night he woke up screaming because my great-great-great uncle Tamerlane was poisoned by Duke DeMontesque, on account of his torrid affair with Lady Cecily Fontaine-DeMontesque. Not out of jealousy, evidently, but because if Cecily dropped the Duke, he would have found himself back in the ass end of the Anderfels instead of at the royal court in Val Royeaux. This was about, oh, 140 years ago."

Iron Bull frowned, blinking his one good eye.

"I told him that the Trevellyans are a noble house, and as such murder is not that uncommon of a way to go in my family. I don't think that consoled him much."

Iron Bull sighed.

"It's a damn good thing he's not sleeping in _my_ tent." He said dryly. "First phase of _Ben_ _Hassrath_ training had enough murder to keep him awake for the rest of his life."

"Mmm. I just hope he never finds out what happened to my cousin Marco."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, listening to the crackling of the fire and the soft breathing of the sleeping horses, the wind rustling through the trees. Bull shifted, throwing one corner of his cloak over her shoulders.

Mira pulled it around herself, suddenly, inexplicably nervous. She sidled in closer to him. Bull was perpetually warm, so warm that she could feel it from several inches away. It would have been easy to lean against him, but...this was not the time. She let her head fall back against the log again, sighing.

"We don't have anything on the Avvar. We don't know if our soldiers are alive or dead." She intoned quietly.

Bull looked down at her from above. He didn't look happy.

"We have a hot trail. In fact...the trail is so hot..."

She turned toward him, brow furrowing.

"...We're walking into a trap." She finished for him.

"Yep. Sure looks that way."

"Ah. Good to know."

"All the more reason for you to get some sleep." He motioned with his head, back toward the edge of the camp. "Take my tent. There's nobody in there. When I'm in there there's no room for anybody else."

Mira opened her mouth then closed it. Then opened it.

Bull shrugged.

"I'm happy enough by the fire, boss. Don't worry about it."

Under different circumstances she might have objected, but at the moment her head was pounding, her eyes burning from lack of sleep and the smoke from damp firewood. She sighed, then stood, his cloak slipping off of her.

"Thanks Bull. Really."

"Hey, no problem." He said. She reached out a hand. He clasped it. His palm was rough with callouses but pleasantly warm.

"Goodnight Bull."

"Nice talking with you, boss." He said.


	3. The Long Game

In Qunlat it was called _dumaar_, a moment that left its imprint on you permanently, frozen in perfect clarity. The Iron Bull had collected quite a few in his admittedly colorful life, some triumphant, others that made the bile rise in his throat when he considered them. This, luckily, had been one of the former.

They'd been half a day from Skyhold, walking across the depressing swamps of the Fallow Mire and back into the hilly expanse of southern Ferelden. The sun was high in the sky, and though it beat down on them somewhat aggressively, bringing up beads of sweat on his brow that trickled down into his eyes, it felt fabulous in comparison to the cold, shitty, unceasing rain.

In fact, Harding had just been commenting that her underthings were _finally_ dry when a huge rippling scream tore across the plains and very probably made her re-dampen them.

The entire party ducked instinctively while both packhorses reared up, eyes rolling in terror. The one Krem led dumped its load, gravity letting it shimmy out of the panniers. Krem pulled his wrist free of the reins just in time and the horse bolted. To his left, Mira unbuckled the second horse's panniers and gave it a ringing slap on the rump, sending it galloping off after its companion as another scream rung out.

_Ataashi_...

The word whispered across his brain as the great beast appeared, majestic wings unfurled, all rippling muscle and death and instinct and power, blotting out the sun.

_Andaraan Ataashi runan suk-san alaan..._

"Glorious." He said, finally wresting his brain back to Ferel.

"Fuck. Oh fuck. Godsdammit." Krem murmured at his side, drawing his broadsword. "Fuck fuck fuck."

The thing's head snapped around and its impossibly graceful body followed, cutting the wind, riding it, slipping down toward them bonelessly. It had seen them.

Ahead, Mira drew her sword, setting her shoulders, bracing her legs, roaring, meeting its will with her own, reaching her left hand up into the sky, the arcane energy of the Anchor flaring. She parted the fabric of reality, the unseen realm shimmering around and above her as the great beast bore down on them.

His sword was in his hand, the blood thundering in his ears, primordial forces, rather his brain, setting him in motion.

The long battle itself he remembered only in snippets, flashes of images, the smell of coppery acrid blood, the heat of the fire it spat at them barely grazing his flesh.

It had worked out well, Cremisius, Mira, and himself on the front line, Sera and Harding at range, Cole striking from the shadows.

They fought until sundown, falling into a rhythm the group had perfected in the Mire, fighting swaths of murderous Avvar and hordes of undead. In another situation his body would have been burning from exertion, but the sacrament of deadly combat had taken ahold of him completely. It blotted out the pain of a hundred scrapes and burns. It kept him upright when he should have been downed, kept him moving. He protected the Inquisitor. He fought the beast. When she struck the fatal blow his heart sang.

And, of course, he developed an erection that could have been used as a battering ram. It was a damn good thing he'd taken to wearing plate armor tassets.

Mira let go of her broadsword, which was still buried in the dragon's eye-socket up to the pommel. She slid off of its giant muzzle, drenched in blood and snot and...whatever it was dragon eyeballs were full of.

Her legs wobbled, then folded as her feet hit the ground, and she half sat, half fell, onto the scorched grass. The Iron Bull drove his sword into a furrow the creature had torn into the earth, moving toward her. She fell back onto the grass, spread-eagled, fumbling at her breastplate.

"Are we...all...alive?" She called out breathlessly.

Krem came into view from the other side of the massive corpse, dropping his gloves and wiping his brow with the back of his hand. Sera was behind him. She tore her helmet off and spiked it at the ground.

"Face down, arse up, surly dragon tart! We're big bloody heroes!" She cackled.

Krem smiled wryly, rolling his gaze over to Sera. "By that...she means 'yes', Inquisitor." He said, bending at the waist, hands on his knees, breathing ragged.

Bull sat in the grass beside Mira in the shadow of the great beast. She finally succeeded in peeling off her bloody, dented breastplate. It landed beside him with a dull thud. The best blacksmith in Thedas wouldn't be able to hammer that thing back into shape. He wondered if her torso was mostly intact beneath her mail.

"Y'alright, Inquisitor?" He asked, leaning back on his hands, sounding casual.

"I need a fucking beer." She said, her eyes rolling over to him.

* * *

And beer was hopefully in her future, but he had his own plans for her as well.

They camped that night, and Bull lay in his little tent all night, submerged in sounds and images; the _Ataashi_ hissing and spitting fire, raking at him with claws the size of his forearm. He saw its final moments, Mira running, covered in black blood, blade raised, mouth open in a roar, unheard over the din. She gathered her strength and leapt. The battered creature turned to look...

Bull sighed, noticing that he was, once again, visibly aroused. At least he had his own tent.

Noticing the response of his body made his mind switch gears. Unbidden, a scene from their last encounter floated past him.

_"Please." She said. Her skin tasted salty on his tongue. The folds of flesh under his fingers were impossibly soft. Human women were very delicate in specific areas, even extraordinary women like Mira. Luckily, he knew just how to touch her, how to wring pleasure out of her in perfect contrast to the tension in her shoulders and arms, the fist he had buried in her soft hair._

_She shivered, letting her body go slack for a moment before hissing and straightening back up. She was caught between the impulse to relax and let her release take her, and gravity. When she sagged, the ropes around her wrists and behind her back pulled just so. It wasn't quite pain, just enough to keep her (quite literally) on her toes. The astaarit configuration was versatile like that-with a few adjustments he could use it in interrogations and more enjoyable moments with equal success._

_"Please." Mira gasped again, so close. It would have been so easy to slide into her again, to feel her come from the inside, all warm wet breath and rippling flesh..._

_...But he didn't. Not until she asked him to. He kept her balanced on the razor's edge, one hand stroking gently, the other pulling her hair, putting his mouth next to her ear._

_"Please what?" He whispered._

Scout Harding giggled from the tent immediately next to him, piercing the silent night and tearing him away from his favorite part of a very pleasant memory.

"Shh, Lace!" Krem's distant voice grumbled, half laughing.

Bull narrowed his eyes, scowling and throwing an arm over his face. Normally he would have been happy his Lieutenant was getting laid, but at the moment it only highlighted how empty his own bedroll was.

"_Nehraa kosluun."_ He grumbled, shifting uncomfortably in a tent made for a much smaller race of people. People without horns.

* * *

They finally arrived back at Skyhold when the sun was directly overhead. No one had been seriously injured in the previous day's fight, but they were all sore, bruised, and singed. Not to mention covered in the dried residue of a dragon's vital fluids.

"Thank the Maker." Harding breathed as the massive portcullis before them started to creakily rise, bits of rust and rock dust dropping from the impressive winches on either side of the gate.

The Seeker and the Spymaster were upon them before they even made it into the courtyard, talking over each other, hustling Mira off for a debriefing. She cast a wry half-smile over her shoulder, eyes finding his for the barest instant, one eyebrow arched.

"All of you! Tavern! Start without me!" She said, Leliana on one side, Cassandra with an iron grip on her other elbow.

"That's what I like to hear." Krem called after her retreating form. "I think the Chargers have rubbed off on her, boss." He added, grinning up at Bull.

"Good." He said lightly. "As long as we're not talking about the way you all _smell_."

"Hey, can we get into the good stuff?" Sera called after the Inquisitor, but she was now almost at the top of the stone steps and engrossed in conversation with Cassandra. The trio of women turned the corner and disappeared.

"Feck. Cabot's beer's terrible. Like floor cleaner and dirty socks." She sighed.

"Only in winter." Harding said helpfully. "Now we're into 'pisswater with a twist of lemon' season."

"Relax, friends." He said. "It just so happens that I've been saving a little something for an occasion such as this."

It seemed as though his plan for the Inquisitor had been interrupted, but he was _Ben Hassrath_, born and bred. He didn't mind playing the long game.

"I'll grab the rest of the company." Krem said, heading up the stairs.

"I'll see who else I can wrangle up." Harding said, following him.

Cole gasped, and Bull saw that his eyes had gone distant and unfocused- a sure sign that his unique brand of weirdness was incoming.

"He doesn't make sense." Cole said, tremulously. "He wanted to live before, but now he just looks out the window, slipping, silently, toward the sea. She wants to say the words, but they aren't there. She can't say the right words. They forgot that she could love him. How could they forget?" He finished plaintively.

Bull and Sera looked at each other for a moment.

"Ohhh-kay, kid. Why don't you come with me and grab the casks?" Bull asked.

Cole's pale eyes snapped over to him, focusing, then looking away. He bit his lower lip, looking at the ground, brow knit. He looked like a frightened kid. A frightened, semi-corporeal kid made of demons and knives.

"No! You're not nice, The Iron Bull." He snapped, attention fully on him now, only to turn and scurry off up the stairs and away.

"Hey! Kid..." Bull called after him, confused. Cole didn't turn around.

"What was that about?" He turned and asked Sera, hands on his hips.

Sera sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Well you _aren't_ nice, are you? You're a bossypants Qunari arsehole with a face like a brick wall and you kill people for money."

"Nobody's perfect." He shrugged.

"Hah. Remember that when I'm off me tits in a few hours. 'Don't be mad at Sera for yakking up in yer helmet, Inquisitor,'" she said, pitching her voice low, "'Nobody's perfect.'"

"Deal." He said dryly. "Just keep your stomach contents away from me, please."

"Is this 'good stuff' you're talking about that mara...mary..."

"_Maraas-Lok,_ yes."

"Woof, no promises." She said, wincing.


	4. Customs of the Kabethari

Predictably, Sera was totally shit-faced before Krem and Harding had even returned, trailed by the Chargers, Dorian, and a bookish little dwarven woman he recognized as the Inquisitor's new Arcanist.

"Where's whatsisname? And the other guy? And the one that doesn't like me?" She slurred, outraged, at the group as they filtered in.

"Warden Blackwall is still in the field, searching for artifacts, Solas and Vivienne are too busy climbing up their own magical-theory-backsides, and everyone else is in the war room grilling the Inquisitor." Harding said.

"Buncha twats." Sera observed succinctly.

Dalish and Stitches wandered over, clapping him on the back before they went for the cask of _maraas_-_lok_. Krem sat down next to Sera, across from him.

"Where's Sunshine?" Krem asked, surveying the bustling tavern.

Bull spread his hands.

"He's pissed at me. Not sure why."

"Because you aren't nice." Sera said, then cackled wildly.

"Hmm. He's got you there, chief." Krem said, nodding.

Bull brought a fist down on the table, making everyone's mugs jump.

"Why does everyone keep saying-"

At that moment a raucous cheer went up, and several beer mugs were held aloft in tribute. Mira had just strode in, of course. She was still in the leather breeches she wore under her armor, but she'd found a clean tunic and picked the bits of dried dragon gore out of her hair. She was smiling tautly, a blush on her cheeks. She didn't hate being the center of the attention, but she also hadn't quite learned how to embrace it, either. Cole was behind her, looking squirrelly and worried. She pointed to their group and said something to him, one hand on his shoulder reassuringly. He slunk over toward the Chargers' table and sat dutifully, shoulders drawn up, eyes down.

Cole was afraid of him. Perhaps he'd stumbled upon something unpleasant in his memories-there were a lot of unpleasant shit to choose from. If Cole was slightly more coherent he might be worried about the state secrets that were also tumbling around in his brain.

Mira neared their table, and pulled him away from his thoughts. Her eyes found him, and she arched an eyebrow playfully, her smile transitioning from forced to genuine. And, of course, a little color came to her cheeks. She stepped over the bench and sat, sighing, beside him. She stripped off her gloves and leaned into her elbows.

Bull, thinking like a _Ben Hassrath_ even when he was in his cups, observed a handful of tells just from this moment. One, she was attracted to him and just a little aroused around the edges- his guess was that she'd just gotten a little momentary flash of their last interlude together. Two, she had stopped purposefully sitting anywhere except beside him. Three, she had taken off her omnipresent gloves, at ease, apparently; she had always covered the mark in all but the most intimate situations.

"Welcome to the party, Your Worship. We were just discussing what an arsehole the Chief is."

"Ah. Well, don't stop on my account." She said good-naturedly as Cabot arrived with a round. She was, admittedly, pretty good at sounding casual- despite how she was definitely still thinking about their last encounter. She was fidgeting unconsciously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, then crossing and uncrossing her legs. And blushing furiously. He really had to ask Red to have a talk with the Inquisitor regarding how very transparent she was at times.

"Remember, Krem," Bull said, pulling his attention seamlessly back. Cabot was serving beer to those not feeling up to Qunari liquor, Mira included. "Lady Montilyet does give me the money, then I dispense it to all of you."

Cremisius raised his mug.

"Point taken. You're a gentleman and a scholar, Chief."

"Hmm, yes. That's what I thought."

Mira threw her head back and cackled.

"Krem knows which side his bread is buttered on." She said, clanking tankards with his Lieutenant across the table.

"Damn straight." Krem said.

* * *

The sun was setting. Everyone in the tavern seemed to be talking to Mira, one by one. The more pious ones approaching the Herald tentatively, shaking her hand, speaking to her earnestly about the rescue of the missing soldiers. The rest called her Inquisitor and grilled her for details regarding the dragon attack and ensuing battle. She had, once again, pleased just about everyone without even trying. It seemed far-fetched to think that Andraste was involved, but luck, at least, was certainly with her.

The bard arrived and was working her way through an impressively long list of songs involving the slaying of dragons. Harding and Krem were making eyes at each other with increasing abandon the more inebriated they became. Sera was creeping around under the tables trying to tie people's bootlaces together. Dorian retrieved Cole from where he'd been moping and brought him over, putting a mug in his hands.

"The end is not the end. It's all wrong, everyone is acting wrong, looks wrong. An explosion of color. We thought we had a choice, but it was all the same. All wondering, wandering, wanting, lead here, for what?" Cole sighed.

"Mmn, yes. Drink this, dear boy." Dorian said, patting Cole on the head with a bejeweled hand.

"But why?" Cole said, snapping back to reality and gazing, dubiously, into his mug. "It smells terrible."

That would be the _maraas-lok_, then. Dorian was certainly giving the poor kid quite an introduction to the world of hard beverages.

"It will make you feel, erm, better? Possibly?" Dorian said, gesturing vaguely, a flush on his cheeks. He sat next to him with less grace than usual, putting a companionable arm around Cole and the other around Harding.

Mira, still seated next to him, covered her mouth with one hand. She leaned, or rather swayed, toward him. Bull inclined his head down to hear her over the din.

"Is it alright for him to drink that?" She asked, her voice low, a little rough from Cabot's truly awful homebrew.

"Ah, well. Um. He's among friends, anyway." Bull said, enjoying the feeling of her breath so close to his ear.

Mira chuckled, casting her eyes downward, leaning into him further. He had the almost insurmountable desire to scoop her up and deposit her in his lap. Had she been damn near anyone else, he would have.

She looked up at him, half-smiling, cheeks flushed from drink. Her gaze finally settled on his, brown eyes languid, long-lashed. She was beautiful. It gave his memory a pleasant little jog.

_He knew what she was thinking. Though she wanted him, she was also intimidated, perhaps even frightened. Her lips shook on his, her hands trembled on his chest. She spoke with bravado she didn't feel. He let her take the lead, let her straddle him, breath hitching, eyes closed, lashes dark on her cheeks. She may have been intimidated, but she was also wet as hell. She kissed him tentatively, warm hands on his face, one thumb tracing his cheekbone, trembling slightly. The emotional intimacy of the moment surprised him, though he didn't show it. She moved carefully, sliding him inside slowly, a little at a time. Carefully still, his hstroking her thighs, up her ribs. finally leaning back, brown eyes half-focused before they fluttered closed, a soft sigh escaping from her parted lips._

Bull cleared his throat, grabbing a mug and the pitcher of _maraas-lok,_ pouring Mira a drink, and himself another one. Nobody had ever had the ability to give him hard-ons at inappropriate moments like she did.

She watched him pour, then looked up again at his face.

"Is it alright for anyone to drink this?" She asked, smiling wryly.

He chuckled, leaning in closer, inclining his head toward her, their lips very close.

"You're among friends as well, my Lady Inquisitor." He murmured.

"Mmm. And I certainly appreciate your...friendship, Bull."

At that moment, Sera half fell across Cole's lap in an attempt to sit down next to him.

"T'Inquisitor's fine'ly inta the hard stuff!" She declared, lifting her own mug high.

Krem, Dorian, and Harding looked up from their own conversation, amused.

"Give us a toast, Chief!" Krem shouted.

He sat back, slipping again into his public role. He arched an eyebrow, grinning.

"To killing a dragon like warriors of legend!" He roared. Half the bar looked over, then raised their glasses, cheering raucously deafeningly. They all drank. The lok burned all the way down into the pit of his stomach. Mira slammed her mug down, coughing.

"Fucksakes, Bull, what do you people put in this?"

"I like it." Cole declared happily, as Dorian poured him another.

"Good." Bull commented. "Put some chest on your chest."

Mira cackled.

"To the Inquisitor!" He roared, and the resultant cheer practically shook the floorboards. They drank. Mira spluttered.

"Augh." She said, wincing.

"Better, right?" He asked, leaning in, feeling the presence of alcohol himself. "After the first one, most of the nerves in your throat are dead."

"That will come in handy later." Dorian said, then dissolved into laughter, pounding his fist on the table.

Cole stood suddenly, almost pushing Sera over and off the bench, eyes wild. She shrieked.

"I understand!" Cole cried, ignoring her. Everyone at their table and the next stopped dead, staring at him. He sat slowly, eyes following figures no one else could see, radiating weirdness in that way only Cole could.

"He pushes her to the edge, but no farther. She tastes the word on her tongue but lets it go. Instead she says his name."

"Kid-" He interjected, eye widening as realization set in, but Cole plowed on, the words coming quickly, almost frantically. Now he really had everyone's attention.

"Tied, but tenderly. He hurts her, just enough. Just...the right way. The hurt takes the real pain away with it. A cascade of color behind closed eyes, the word forgotten, only his name on her lips. Huge hands, so often used to kill, calloused, now calming, now-"

"Cole. Please stop talking." Mira said, looking like she was about to vault over the table and tackle him. Cole's pale eyes finally stopped wandering aimlessly and focused on her face.

"I understand now." He said again, grinning, then looked over at him. "I'm sorry I said you weren't nice, Bull. I didn't realize that she likes it when you tie her up and-"

"_Sweet Maker, Cole!"_ Mira shrieked, cutting him off.

The faces of everyone at the table had gone slack. In fact, half the tavern's mouths had gone slack. People were giving him some monumentally dirty looks. Bull recognized that, were he anything other than Qunari, he probably would have been totally mortified at this point. Or maybe not? Some of those dirty looks were full of unrestrained jealousy. Other people just looked confused. One soldier leaned over to his puzzled friend and explained what had just been revealed. And he used some very lewd gestures.

Bull sat quietly, casually, drinking his lok. A few pairs of frustrated eyes beat down on him-of course, there was a sizable contingent of soldiers whose amorous dreams about Mira had just been quietly throttled. He smiled in that way that always made Krem nervous. Everyone was waiting to see what Mira would do.

"Andraste's tits!" Sera said finally, in wonderment, breaking the near-silence. "How does him and you even work? Look at the size of 'im! I mean, your poor fancy-bits must be-"

"Fucksakes, Sera, we are not discussing my _fancy-bits!_" Mira roared.

"To the Inquisitor's fancy-bits!" Dorian cried, slurring slightly, hoisting his tankard high.

Their table and a few others cheered ferociously, the tension breaking, then drank with equal enthusiasm. The more jocular troops laughed and slapped and pounded the backs of their unhappy or scandalized friends. Bull looked over at Mira, expecting her to be murderously angry. To his surprise, she just rolled her eyes, then laughed, tipped her mug back, and swallowed the rest of her drink in one go.

"Alright, alright. Ya mind-readin' pryin' bastards." She croaked, swaying into him. She steadied herself on his horn. He found himself grinning. She'd surprised him once again. "Me and my fancy-bits have had enough of this conversation. Toast whatever you want, but if anyone breathes a _word_ of this to Cassandra I'll kill you all and blame Corypheus."

"Better walk her home, Chief!" Krem said, giving him the most salacious wink he'd ever seen. Harding was hanging onto his Lieutenant's arm, giggling into his shoulder.

Bull stood, more than a few pairs of eyes following him up to his full height. He straightened his harness and sword belts.

"My Lady Inquisitor." He said to Mira with gravitas, offering her an elbow.

* * *

The cold night air felt great after the close quarters of the tavern, and certainly smelled better. Mira was doing her best to appear less drunk than she really was, and with a different observer she may have succeeded. When they reached the main hall, however, she just slumped sideways into him, a look of utter, bemused defeat on her face. He scooped her up effortlessly and continued on, past the wan light of the fireplace, past huge stone figures that loomed over them in the darkness of the empty hall. Mira crossed her arms as best as she could while being pressed up against his chest.

"I'm fine now. Really. Put me down this instant." She declared, slurring slightly, then gave up the charade and dissolved into laughter.

"Be grateful that I didn't leave you with the Chargers." He said. "Once when I passed out they stole my clothes and left me on the far side of this awful little town. I woke up naked in a horse trough, with a pounding headache and a pissed off horse looking down at me. Stole some laundry off a clothesline and had to find my way back to camp in some old lady's nightie."

She gaped up at him, astonished, then broke into peals of laughter.

He laughed too, all the while hoping that no one in Skyhold would be awake to witness their Inquisitor in this...less than dignified state.

At last, he nudged the door to her quarters open with a boot and strode in, closing it behind him. The moon was full and cast enough light through the glass doors that he could at least find her bed. He pulled back the bedclothes with one hand and laid her down carefully. Mira was looking up at him with an expression that even he couldn't interpret.

He sat on the bed beside her, pulled her boots off, then helped her wriggle-with some difficulty-out of her breeches.

"Y'ok, boss?" He asked, pushing hair away from her face.

"Psssh. Don't call me 'boss', Bull. At least not here." She said.

"Alright," he chuckled softly, "Baronette Mirabelle Marceline Valentinia Travelyan, Your Worship the Inquisitor, Herald of Andr-"

"Ugh! Stop! You..." She said, putting her bare foot on the side of his face and trying to push him over and off her bed. It didn't work.

"...Arsehole." She finished, going limp, her leg falling across his lap. She smiled up at him playfully. This was a side of her he didn't often see-usually only in the few moments between fucking her senseless and leaving her to her rest.

Sex was like that, at least if you let it be. It loosened people up, got those happy/trusting/relaxed brain juices flowing. The Qunari, culturally speaking, had no particular emotional attachment to the act, though they certainly understood this phenomenon in the Kabethari. As a _Ben Hassrath_, he was well-versed in manipulating people through any means necessary, sex included.

If the _Ben Hassrath_ had called upon him to, for example, assassinate Mira, he would have gone about it in precisely this same way. He would have found his way into her good graces and her bed, then probably murdered her in her sleep. Mira was a very intelligent, perceptive individual, but she had no sneakiness in her at all. No treachery. It would have been easy. It was a damn good thing that his masters had wanted her to live.

Bull pushed these thoughts away.

"Are you ok? Mira?" He asked, nicely this time.

She snorted.

"Yeah. I mean, other than how I've finally gotten you back into my bed but now I'm too twatted to do anything to you."

Iron Bull chuckled softly.

"Well, there's always tomorrow. So long as Seeker Pentaghast doesn't have me thrown off the battlements for _besmirching_ the Herald."

She laughed wickedly as he tried to cover her with the bedclothes. She managed to reach up as he bent down and pulled his face down toward hers.

She kissed him softly but lingeringly, deeply, her small, warm hands on his face, her tongue sliding over his. A warm tingle started at the back of his skull and finished in his groin.

"Stay here with me, Bull." She said, between kisses. "You never stay."

The Qunari didn't share beds, at least not in the way the _Kabethari_ did. Children shared bunks or cots in the crèche, and in harsh conditions adults wouldn't balk at bedding down together for warmth or safety. But when there were enough beds to go around, what was the point of splitting one? And, of course, nobody had ever asked him to before, even after so long in the company of _Kabethari_. They generally wanted to be shagged senseless, then left the hell alone. Mira was always surprising him.

"I'll protect you..." She wheedled, her lips still on his. "...from Cassandra."

"Mm. You wouldn't make much of a human shield-not for me, at least."

"I have blackmail material on Seeker Pentaghast, courtesy of Varric." Mira countered.

"Mm. Devious. I like it." He murmured.

"I thought you might." She said, lacing her fingers behind her head and letting out a satisfied sigh.

Bull stripped off his harness and pauldrons, then proceeded to his clothes. Mira watched, hands behind her head, ankles crossed, both naked and the very picture of smugness. Finally he slid in next to her, the bed creaking slightly under his weight. She shifted to drape herself over him, her warm, soft breasts pressing into his rib cage, her exhaled breath strongly alcoholic.

Mira pushed hair off of her face, giving him a look he couldn't interpret.

"Do you really sleep in that?" She asked him, and for a moment he didn't know what she was talking about. He was as naked as the day he'd been born. She pointed to his face.

Bull's hand went to his eyepatch. He'd forgotten all about it.

"Uh, no, I suppose not." He said, not sure what to do. What lay under his eyepatch was, by anyone's standards, fairly unpleasant. He'd been hit in the eye socket with a flail. Iron Bull remembered that moment vividly. He was about as far from squeamish as it was possible to be, but recalling the feeling of fluid from his ruptured eyeball dripping off his chin, while also, now, having drank a healthy portion of maraas lok, very nearly made his stomach rebel.

Unconcernedly, Mira hauled herself up onto him, using his shoulders for leverage, and started untying his eyepatch.

Bull watched her face carefully, curious. He didn't exactly mourn his disfigurement. After all, he didn't get by on his looks, in business or pleasure...but on the other hand, no one had seen his full face since that day, not even his Chargers.

Mira pulled the eyepatch away, then tossed it onto the bedside table. It landed with a clatter.

"Mm. Much better." She said, still slurring slightly, then put her hands on his face and kissed him lingeringly. Unexpectedly, warmth fluttered in his chest. She drew back, finally, smiling sleepily. Her heavy-lidded eyes flitted from his eye to his mouth, nothing in her face but playfulness and genuine affection.

Iron Bull reached out tentatively and cradled her face, fingers behind her ear, in her soft hair, thumb tracing her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed and she sighed, lost in his touch. His hand looked huge next to her face, and he noticed that he was shaking slightly. He drew her close, until their foreheads touched. It was a very Qunari thing to do, though she probably didn't know it.

_I'm going soft_. He thought, but he still laid kisses on her eyelids, then, later, stroked her hair as she slept, sprawled out across him.


End file.
